Again
by smartybear2
Summary: Some things are worth revisiting. MS. Oneshot. Fluffangst. Slightly AU  but isn't everyone's? :


TITLE: Again

AUTHOR: Smartybear2 (Claire)

DETAILS: One Shot, MS, with some angst/fluff going, slightly AU

SPOILERS: set way after season 4

RATING: T (just to be safe)

DISCLAIMER: Sam and Martin belong to CBS – otherwise, I'd have gotten them back together by now.

SUMMARY: Maybe some things are worth revisiting.

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_When nothi__ng else subsists from the past… __after the __things are broken and scattered,__ the smell and taste of things remain poised a long time, like souls bearing resiliently, on tiny and almost impalpable drops of their essence, the immense edifice of memory" _

Marcel Proust "The Remembrance of Things Past"

AGAIN

It hits her when he leans over and casually crosses her guarded space to reach for a file across the table from him. Just a whiff of the crisp, woodsy scent he sometimes favors mingling with that something indefinably, uniquely _hi__m_.

That's all it takes. Just like that, she must tamp down the urge to pull him down to her and bury her face in his chest and breathe deeply to take him in, lose herself in his wonderful smell.

It wasn't right. They had been over a long time ago. It didn't matter if they had a past. This insane urge definitely fell way beyond friend territory and was most definitely off limits. It has been hard enough work to get back to where they were now. They were friends again, and this friendship was just too important to her to allow those same feelings to muddy up the waters again.

It was just her luck that he smelled so damn good.

He returns to his seat oblivious to her inner conflict, focused on the task at hand.

Now that he's caught her attention, she steals glances at him between reading pages of her report. She appreciates the way the hollows in his cheeks have filled out over the past few months, the way the shadows have cleared from under his eyes. Her fingers itch to reach out and smooth the frown line on his forehead, and she fights the impulse to get him to look at her and coax those heart-melting dimples of his out of hiding. She knows exactly how silky the brown hair brushing the top of his collar feels, knows how soft those unyielding lips really are especially when they are moving against hers. Beneath the table, he sits close enough beside her for her to feel the warmth radiating from his thigh through her slacks, and their legs are almost touching.

Dammit. This is crazy. She really has no business thinking about him this way anymore.

She had been so furious at him, at the perfunctory way he had severed their relationship, that it had been easy. In the weeks following their break-up she had ruthlessly pushed him to the back of her mind, refusing to acknowledge that she felt anything for him except rage, not allowing herself to fall into the pit of endless analysis and what ifs.

The shooting had changed all that. Faced with the specter of losing him forever had radically changed her perspective. In those hours that his life had hung in the balance, she realized just how important he was to her and the enormity of what she had already lost and what it was she was about to lose.

Those weeks he had been away had given her time to think. She had lost a lover, had almost lost a friend. He had needed, expected more than she thought she could give – and she had hurt him when she didn't. She felt more for him than she thought she could feel – and he had hurt her more than he knew when he walked away. While part of her wanted to follow him and ask for another chance, she also knew that she was not ready to deal with her "problems" and fight to have a real relationship with him. He deserved better. So for his sake and hers, she had made the decision to let him go.

After he came back, she had walked the precarious tight rope of reclaiming his friendship while at the same time keeping her distance. He was only too willing to let her, consumed first with the struggle to recover from his injuries then with the futile effort to escape the painkillers that had held him hostage. The subtle changes in him had made it easy for her to keep out of his way, and it had almost been too late before she realized what had been going on. She had made the decision to confront him on impulse; to her surprise, he had allowed her to be there for him. Since then, they had struggled to regain the friendship they had lost after they parted ways. They had just gotten to the point where they had just learned to be comfortable around each other again.

She doesn't know exactly when it started, when these feelings she swore she had buried deep the day he ended things with her had snuck past her. When she had suddenly become aware of him again in the most basic way, when she had begun to know the exact moment he would enter a room and then leave it, sucking all the life from it. She doesn't know when it had suddenly become an effort to focus on the details of their work instead of the way his shirt brought out the vivid blue of his eyes, when he had begun to pop into her head at the oddest times of her day, when he had suddenly taken up residence in her mind as the last person she thought of before she went to sleep.

She is like a schoolgirl with a crush, and she hates it. It is a dangerous place to be, and she knows it. It terrifies her because it is all too familiar – the way her heart speeds up when he smiles at her as she gets to work in the morning, the way her skin tingles when he absently brushes her arm as he leans behind her to look over a file she is reading, the tug in her belly when he stands near enough for her to feel his breath at her nape. The only difference is that it is harder now because she knows – and her memory turns into a traitor and forces her to remember.

Danny joins them at the table, carrying more files under his arm and a half-full mug of coffee in his hand, and the coffee's inviting aroma distracts her. Danny sits across from her at the foot of the table, opens one of his work folders and digs in.

"More of that in the coffee pot?" he asks Danny, drawing her gaze once more. "I think I could use a mug just about now."

She watches him rub his nape with his hand, and she is transfixed. Suddenly, she remembers the feel of those long, strong fingers kneading out the knots in her own shoulders. She knows the texture of those fingers, how they feel as they run across her skin, coaxing her body to reveal its secrets to him. She knows the subtle differences between the firm feel of his fingertips, the satin glide of his lips, the silken roughness of his tongue. Unbidden, she sees him in her mind as he moves above her, those blue eyes dark with desire looking down at her, relentless, and she knows that in those moments she is his entire world.

God, she missed him.

This. Was. Not. Acceptable.

She tears her eyes away and tries to focus on the file in front of her. But the warmth she can feel creeping up her neck is something she cannot control, and she knows it is only a matter of time before it gives her away.

"Want one, Sam?" His touch on her shoulder is casual, even friendly, but coming at the tail-end of her explicit imaginings, it is electrifying to her.

"Uh… wh-what was that?" she stutters. Her tongue feels thick inside her mouth, and as she looks up at him, eyes wide, she is afraid that her thoughts are naked on her face for him to see.

"I was going to get some coffee, do you want a mug?"

"I'd love one, thanks," she says with a smile for him, then turns quickly back to her work to hide her face. But she can't help herself, and she follows him with her gaze as he walks away until he is out of her view.

The sound of a throat clearing grabs her attention, and sheer amusement is plain all over Danny's face.

"What?" she snaps at him irritably, but she knows from Danny's knowing smirk that her fair skin has betrayed her. Or maybe it was the way she couldn't look away from the delicious view of his best friend's backside.

"Nothing," Danny says after a pregnant pause, but his raised eyebrows are speaking volumes. "You just seem… I don't know, distracted?"

"It's been a long day," she says belligerently. With Danny the best defense was always a good offense. "I'm entitled to be distracted."

"Hmmm," Danny hums, but the mischief in his eyes warns her that the topic was far from closed.

The rich dark smell of the coffee mingling with his scent reaches her even before he places her mug on the table and slips back into his chair. It reminds her of the many times he has done this for her, oftentimes even without being asked, especially during the short time they were together. He had always used it as a pretext to approach her in the middle of the day because, in her insistence to keep their relationship hidden, having him get her coffee was the only sweet gesture she had allowed him while they were at work. Regret and guilt flood her in equal measure, mingling with the almost uncontrollable impulse to express her emotions by leaning over and surprising him with a kiss.

Back when they began, she had complicated their friendship with lust, and found herself in a relationship when it was the last thing she was ready for. She really wasn't looking to make the same mistake again… was she?

"Thanks," she says, instead of every other thing she wants to say to him but can't.

She takes the mug between both her hands, inhaling deeply of the comforting and familiar smell in the hopes that it will wipe his away. With a sigh, she takes a long sip; the searing heat of the liquid moving down her throat an odd counterpoint to the distracting warmth that is coursing through her just because he is near. She tries to focus on something, anything that is not him, and they land on Danny's knowing smirk.

"That coffee must be really good stuff," Danny says, fielding her silent glare with a grin. He stands up, taps Martin on the shoulder to catch his attention. "What did you put in it? I think I'm going to go get more for myself after all." With that he walks away, and they are alone again.

"What was that about?" Martin says, a hint of a laugh in his voice. "Did I miss something?"

"I think he might be high on something," she says, rolling her eyes and trying for levity.

She takes another sip of her coffee and almost chokes on it when he grins at her and quips, "Isn't that supposed to be my problem?"

_No, it's mine – I'm high on you right now, _she is tempted to retort, the reply at the tip of her tongue. But she cannot bring herself to say the words, unsure if she can handle whatever his reaction will be. It hasn't been this easy between them for such a long time, and the last thing she wants is to upset the balance.

But he has noticed her silence and is looking her with a solemn look on that ridiculously boyish face of his, those probing eyes bluer than ever and threatening to expose her secrets. Without warning, he covers the hand she has on the table and gives in a gentle squeeze. The pleasurable tingle the touch has produced and runs up her arm and warms the rest of her. The sight of her hand held in his much bigger one is poignant enough to thicken her throat with tears.

"Hey," he says softly, meeting her eyes. "I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable with the junkie humor." He smiles, and. "Almost one year sober, thanks to you and Danny."

She nods and tries to smile reassuringly, but she doesn't quite trust her voice. There is a look on his face that she hasn't seen for a long time now when he speaks with her, a shy, almost childlike sweetness that she knows she had a hand in banishing when she had treated him so badly while they were together.

"I'm glad," she finally says. "I… I'm glad you're okay."

It is a pale substitute for everything else she wants to say.

_I'm sorry I hurt you. I'm sorry I didn't realize how precious you were to me until it was over. __I've changed. I'm ready to really give us a good try. __Can I have another chance? Can we start over?_

But she knows that there are times in your life where you cannot get a second chance.

He is still studying her with that curious expression on his face, and she realizes that he has not let go of her hand. She looks down to their joined hands for a long moment before moving her gaze up to meet his dark blue gaze.

"Sam, there's something I've been meaning to tell you for some time now…" he begins uncertainly, his voice gruff, and there is something in it and in his eyes that causes her heart to pound even harder in her chest. "I know this is going to sound crazy because I was the one who… decided to end things between us but… I just wanted to say that I really miss you."

A shimmer of pleasure goes through her at his admission, and suddenly she believes in second chances. She feels the smile slowly bloom over her face, and she can see the answering smile in his. In that moment, she decides that upsetting the balance might be a good thing for both of them after all.

"Martin… will you have dinner with me?"

The invitation takes him by surprise, but the delight that flashes over his face is unmistakable to her and a reflection of her own.

"Just dinner?" he quips, his eyes filling with mischief. Still, there is wariness in them that she promises to dispel in time.

"Just dinner," she says softly. "This time around we're taking things _very slowly_."

He laughs at that. "I'm glad we're planning on taking things anywhere at all," he says softly, and she sees that look in his eye that she thought she would never see again. He stands up and draws her up from her chair, and she hopes it speaks volumes to him when she doesn't object that he still hasn't let go of her hand. "Hop Lee? I'm hungry."

She grins back at him. "Sounds good to me."

Danny, coffee mug in hand, almost walks into them as they exit the bullpen. "Hey, where are you two going?" he asks, glancing pointedly at their joined hands, eyebrows angled up and a wide grin in place. "Can I come along?"

"No," they say together, and the word ends on a giddy laugh from both of them. They leave a grinning Danny looking after them as they walk to the elevator, hand in hand.

It is considerably crowded in the elevator, and she steps back into him as the elevator door closes. She feels the tickle of his breath against her ear and the deep breath he takes. "Sam, you just smell so damn good," he whispers.

She just laughs and leans back into him, and savors the joy of this chance to be with him this way again.

xxxx

fin

xxxx


End file.
